I
coached the World Champion Dallas Cowboys from 1960 until I retired in 1988. Except for a stint as a B-17 bomber pilot in World War II, my life has been focused on football. I loved the rush of adrenaline before a game, the exhilaration of making a touch-down, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of each victory, the unique experience of playing in the Super Bowl -and winning a couple of times.
The deep satisfaction of coaching the players to learn to discipline themselves, to develop their skills and to work together as a team was a driving force in my life. Encouraging the players to pay the price for their achieve ments and earning the support of the fans were very important to me. But there’s a part of my life that most of the mil lions of football fans do not know - my life centers around God and family - and helping at-risk children.
For many years now I have served on the board of Happy Hill Farm, a children’s home and special school located in the Texas hills. We simply call it the Farm; it is a five -hundred-acre working farm complete with horses, cattle and most important, more than one hundred hurting, troubled children whose families are unable or unwilling to help them.
I’ve seen some great victories on the football field, but far greater are the victories I’ve witnessed in hundreds of kids since Ed and Gloria Shipman opened their hearts and home about twenty five years ago. Some kids have survived unimaginable horrors and carry horrendous emotional scars with them. But more often than not, these battered kids leave the Farm with their life repaired, a high school diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world again.
Although each kid is special, I remember some more than others. I’ll never forget John, a frail little boy living with his mother in an abandoned car in a Fort Worth garbage dump before coming to the Farm. Or Frieda, a young girl who had been sexually abused by her step -father and brother. And Jack, whose father abandoned his family, leaving a single mom and a young son who always wanted to die. Jack had tried to take his life many times before coming to live on the Farm. And Amy, whose parents were in prison. Amy would have been killed had her desperate grandmother not found Happy Hill Farm.
And then there was Tip, a great kid from a small Texas town not far from Happy Hill Farm. Tip’s background was plagued with all kinds of problems. And when he slugged a teacher, a judge referred him to the Farm. Tip was only twelve, but he was large for his age. It was hard to tell that his hair was red because his father kept it shaved. “It’s easier to see the lice,” Tip quipped.
Tip had been labeled “white trash”. His family’s shack had no indoor plumbing, they got their drinking water from a well and bathed in a nearby creek. Personal hygiene and social skills were not high among the family’s priorities. Tip was uncoordinated, unmotivated and volatile. After being sent to the Farm, he had to be taught how to use a knife and fork. Having spent so much time outdoors, he had to be coaxed to sleep indoors on a bed. I recall how Tip would ramble through the house, knocking over vases and lamps as he gestured to make a point. But Tip didn’t really need to gesture because every other word coming out of his mouth was an expletive.
“I hate all these rules!” Tip screamed more than once. But there was one fate Tip would have hated worse - being confined in a juvenile jail. Because Tip had heard what it was like and concluded he wanted to stay out at all costs. So he began trying to follow the Farm’s rules.
Yet persuading Tip to sit in a classroom took days. Encouraging him to study required weeks. Re placing his profanity with more appropriate language took months and months. Perhaps the biggest challenge, though, was removing the chip from Tip’s shoulder. Large doses of unconditional love and consistent discipline were required to instill in Tip trust for authority figures and society.
And I watched Tip slowly change. Over the years as coach of the Cowboys, I saw a lot of impressive changes, as players became more disciplined, more skilled and more motivated. But the changes I saw in Tip and other bruised and suffering kids were far more dra -matic than anything I had seen on the football field.
Tip finally graduated from the Farm’s high school. He was the first person in his large family ever to stay in school long enough to graduate. Tip was also the first male in his family not to serve time in a Texas prison. Tip’s accomplishments were among the greatest points I have ever seen scored. But more championship feats in Tip’s turbulent life were yet to come.
After graduating from high school, Tip went to work in the oil-fields of West Texas. He saved his money and had plumbing installed in his family’s house. He bought his mother a car. He helped his sisters go to school. He returned to his small hometown to work as a mechanic. Tip is now married and has four children.
The dehumanizing cycle of poverty, brutality and imprisonment has been broken by Tip. His overcoming almost insurmountable obstacles is an incredible victory I feel privileged to have shared even a small part in. I love football -always have, always will - but mending the lives and hearts of boys and girls like John, Frieda, Jack, Amy and Tip gives me a sense of satis faction like no other thrill. Giving them a fair chance at liv ing their dreams is a victory far greater than a Super Bowl.
- Tom Landry
There is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. It is to stoop down and lift man kinda little higher.
- Henry Van Dyke